


The Gift

by AfroGeekGoddess



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Gen, Grief, Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:39:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AfroGeekGoddess/pseuds/AfroGeekGoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John marks Sherlock's first birthday after Reichenbach. Set in the "After Life" universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sherlock and John aren't mine, I'm just borrowing them. I promise to feed them and take them for walks and give them back when I'm done.

John holds in his hands a small, waxy candle, scavenged from the back of one of the kitchen drawers. The candlelight flickers in the darkness of the sitting room, crackling softly in the stillness. A tendril of smoke curls up from the spent match, the smell of sulfur filling John's nostrils as he sits on the sofa.

It is the first birthday After without him.

He had never liked celebrating birthdays, told John never to get him anything. _Just a waste of time_ , he had said.

John remembers his reaction when he gave him that first birthday present, a new pair of leather gloves to replace the original, lost in the Thames on a kidnapping case. Silver eyes wide, mouth open, voice broken and quiet, face even paler in shock, as if no one had ever given him a gift before:

 _I never expected anyone to be kind. To remember the day I came into the world._ He cradled the gloves in his trembling hands. _I never thought I was worth it._

 _You are to me._ John's eyes shone with soft tears. _You always are._

The memory was one of many gifts he gave to John: the way his eyes glittered at crime scenes, amazing John with his delightful brilliance. The way his wild, deep laughter danced with John's own. The way John's heart felt suddenly lighter, fuller, bigger at his side.

John stares down at the tiny candle, dripping hot wax into his empty hands. He barely feels it burning against his skin.

He has nothing left. Nothing but his aching leg and shaking hands and hollow heart. All he can give to him is the memory of their friendship. He hopes it will be enough. He hopes it will reach him, wherever he is.

"Happy birthday, Sherlock," John whispers into the darkness. Slowly, softly, he blows out the lit candle, making the same wish he utters with every heartbeat: _I_ _wish_ _you_ _were_ _here._

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Thank you for reading. An earlier version of this ficlet was posted on my Tumblr page.
> 
> The brilliant and talented Anke (Khorazir on Tumblr) created a beautiful illustration based on this story: khorazir.tumblr.com/post/12525722073/inspired-by-afrogeekgoddess-touching-story-the


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